What Never Should Have Happened
by Figure
Summary: The crossover that was never meant to be. If you are a fan of either V for Vendetta or The Princess Bride, stay away! You have been warned... Comicverse. What happens when V explains his true origins.


"Roses!" Evey exclaimed, seeing the dark red blooms with a burst of delight. She bent over the large, abundant garden. Inhaling deeply, she caught an aromatic mixture of floral scent and rich, earthy dirt. V stood by silently, his hand on her shoulder.

"In her letter, Valerie said she hoped there would be roses again. Did you grow them for her?" she asked, admiring the deep colors of the flowers.

"I grew them in her memory," V replied, voice indistinguishable from anyone else's in the mask. "...But I give them to others, upon occasion." He seemed to hesitate. "Evey... once you told me you would not kill, not even for me. When I plucked you from the streets, you were about to kill a man. One _Alistair Harper_."

Evey's back stiffened and she looked up as V moved around the garden, running the fingers of his glove along the edge. He continued, "He killed your lover. You wanted revenge. There is a rose her for him. You only have to pluck it and hand it to me. Nothing else.

"To pick a flower is not a large thing. It is as easy as it is irrevocable. Understand what is being offered here, and do as thou wilt."

_I think I understand,_ Evey thought, wonderingly staring at one rose. _Alistair Harper_. He'd killed Gordon, murdered him with a smile and innocent words in his mouth. That foul, beastly monster. Evey felt the hate rise inside of her, thick as smog, black as bile. She caressed the rose's stem, raising it as though she was about to pick it.

She lingered, staring at its dark beauty. V's mask was watching her intently as it always did. Evey let the rose go. With a smile, she turned and told him, "Let it grow."

**Later**

"What are you going to do next?" Evey inquired, following V into a different part of the Shadow Gallery. She recognized this one – it had the record player in it, one of her favorite ways to while away the time. V walked over to it and searched for a disc. "The finale, I think," he answered, taking his time. "I think the finale is next."

She'd learned by now he wasn't going to tell her anything else if she didn't keep asking, so she followed him as he placed the disc inside.

"Will I be needed?"

"Oh yes. You'll be needed... but not till the very end. That will be sooner than you think." Was it just her imagination, or did V insert some foreboding into that last sentence? "You must prepare yourself."

"What for?" she asked faintly, trying to follow the movements which were obscured by his back and understand his words at the same time.

"You'll know when it comes." He looked up from his precious gramophone and faced her.

"And you?" Evey pursued.

"Me? I'm going to give the world what Valerie wanted it to have." He set down the dial. "Roses. A great... abundance of roses. Shall we dance?" The music began to play and lights flickered around the room, illuminating it in lurid primary colors. V took her hand.

They danced.

_So much he knows of me, yet so little I of him..._ Evey pondered, gazing into the mask. _It seems ironic that I'm voluntarily aiding the country's most well known terrorist and murderer, that he's already accepted me into his plans and assumed that I would take responsibility for them... and yet I don't even know his name..._

"V..." said Evey softly. He didn't miss a step. "Who are you? Really?"

"A long story, one which is hard to tell," V said, seeming to sigh. He passed a hand over his forehead, looking almost theatric in his grinning façade. "The truth is, Evey, I was once only an _apprentice_ to the real V."

"What?" Evey gasped. She stopped, confused. "How can that be, if you've had this plan for more than five years?"

"I am myself often surprised by life's little quirks," he replied, completely straight-faced – as per usual. Evey frowned. Something about the words he said seemed familiar...

"You see, I was just a mundane person like your old self, Evey. V rescued me when I was attempting to join a mob protesting the Norsefire party and brought me to this Gallery. I begged him to let me live, describing the deep hate I felt for our government. Of course, V was similarly inclined, but he was reluctant to let me survive. He decided to keep me as a sort of valet – akin to the way I took in you, Evey." This time, she thought she detected some tenderness, but she was too eager for the story to pay attention to it.

"But how did you get on?"

"I liked him and his flair for style; he enjoyed my company. He pretended he had a great dislike for me: he'd say 'Well, good night, job well done, but I'm afraid I just can't take the risk of having you here – I'll most likely kill you in the morning.' Two years it went on like that, and all the while I was learning: knife work and sword work and how to use my fingers like blades; how to make explosives out of coffee, or psychedelic drugs as cheap as water... and every night, it was 'Good night, job well done – I'll most likely kill you in the morning."

Evey wrinkled her brow again. This was getting more and more eerie. V's words had brought on a sudden sense of déjà vu – and weren't his tones changing...? becoming a little more clipped, a little higher...?

"Why would you need drugs, V?" she asked, "Do you need to get high before taking on a big revolution?" The joke fell flat at her feet, but V continued on without noticing.

"Eventually, V and I became friends. And then it happened."

"What?"

"V was getting old, Evey. He wanted to retire, but leave someone else to continue with the good work. So one day he took me to the piano room and told me his secret. 'I am not the real V,' he said."

"Wait – wait a minute, _he_ wasn't V and _you_ weren't V..." Evey stumbled behind V as he suddenly took a 180 turn and headed out a door. "What's going on here?"

V kept speaking, and now she was sure there was a change in his voice. Before it was always a little bit muffled, deep, sonorous, and solemn. Now it had a suggestion of something else that she couldn't quite trace. Evey knew she'd heard it somewhere... but where... when...

V continued the story. "He said 'my name is Ryan. I inherited the Shadow Gallery from the previous V, just as you shall inherit it from me. The previous V was not the real V either. His name was Cummerbund. The real V had been retired fifteen years and living comfortably somewhere in Canada.' Then he explained that the _name_ was important – nobody would care about me if I were just 'Codename:... something or other.'" He trailed off, staring mistily into the past. V had stopped at the piano, and trailed his fingers across a couple of keys. It sounded like a few bars of the 1812 Overture, but she couldn't be sure, as her mind was on other things. This was completely insane. V wasn't supposed to have been an apprentice! He was the first and last of his kind! And where had Larkhill Detention Center gone? And _why_ did V keep avoiding his own name? He couldn't even answer her that!

"At any rate," V continued, lifting his hands off the keys, "The important thing was how V was going to retire. He said that I should carry on his plans, fitted all his cloaks and masks to me, and released himself somewhere on the outskirts of London. I'd never seen his face and he's never seen me since."

"V, this is crazy," Evey stammered. She pulled on his arm and he turned to face her, mask implacable as ever. "I mean, how did you get to Larkhill from being V's apprentice? And your legend hasn't been around forever, you know. The first time you were ever reported in the papers was in 1993 – that's not nearly long enough for fifteen years of retirement! Who are you really?

"Evey... I am Cary Elwes." He ripped off his mask and showed her his true face; the stunningly handsome Westley from "The Princess Bride"!

Evey screamed and pushed him away – and that's when the plot dissolved in a puddle of melted prose. And there was much rejoicing.


End file.
